


Bouncer

by CallMeIronWoobie



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: "Retirement", Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, College, F/M, Gen, Humor, Irish Pub, Male-Female Friendship, Season 2, Stanford University, bouncer, civvies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeIronWoobie/pseuds/CallMeIronWoobie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At six one, 185 pounds, and the natural lean, sturdy muscle that came from a speedster's metabolism, Wally West had the right build for the job. It was just a matter of time. A story of how former hero and current Stanford student Wally West worked as a bouncer at an Irish pub, finding new ways to do what he'd done before: protect and save people. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bouncer

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. I had this idea while on a roadtrip today, about what college life must have been for Wally West - an area I look forward to diving into what will become the third story in the "Outlier" series: "Limits". But because that's so far off into the future, I wanted to make this one-shot now.
> 
> Because this does take place in college, when Wally is 20, there are suggestions of what some might call 'adult themes' (depending on how you define that - nothing too terrible, this is me after all). So the T rating is mostly for that. You have been warned, I guess? :P
> 
> Anyways, Happy New Years, everyone! Look forward to a 2016 with at least one update a week as my resolution! Maybe you guys can hold me to it. :)
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Iron Woobie

" _There are ways to protect people without a uniform, Kid."_

**Bouncer**

At six one, 185 pounds, and the natural lean, sturdy muscle that came from a speedster's metabolism, Wally West had the right build for the job.

Being as small as he had been for most of his life, it had taken him a while to realize that he wasn't a scrawny kid anymore by the time he was in college. It had taken him even longer to get _comfortable_ with the idea.

It wasn't like Wally _needed_ another job. He already had two, on top of being a full-time student. Working at the campus coffee shop three days a week, being a library aide on the weekends, and blowing through his physics major, Wally had enough on his plate, something that Artemis wouldn't let him forget.

But it was never as if he was _drowning_ in work. While he wasn't doing sound-barrier-breaking sprints or vibrating at top speed these days, his brain still worked like a machine, and against all odds to distract himself otherwise, Wally had time on his hands.

He tried not to think too much about what he'd given up to have so much time on his hands in the first place.

"Dude, you should do intermurals," Rick would always say. His lab partner brought the topic up at least once a week when they were doing busy work in section. "You look like the varsity guys, why not put that muscle mass to good use? You could walk on at any point and easily get a spot."

_You have no idea how easily._

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. I just don't like sports that much," Wally would tell his friend with an easy smile. After over eight years with these powers, rejecting offers of athletics was second-nature - he didn't have any of the jitters and issues with lying anymore.

"Just saying, Wally. If I had 'ceps like yours, I wouldn't be working at the _library_ of all places."

Wally was able to brush off Rick's comments for months, happy with the rhythm of life he and Artemis had settled into.

And then Artemis had a Comparative Literature conference in Star City for a couple of days, leaving Wally with even more time on his hands than he knew what to do with. It wasn't the same to Netflix and chill with just yourself, and Wally didn't trust himself to go for a 'walk', so he ventured into Palo Alto.

And stumbled across what sounded like a bar fight. One guy was thrown through the window of Dublin's, a small but popular Irish pub, followed quickly by another guy who pounced on him right there on the sidewalk in front of Wally, dangerously close to the street where cars zoomed by.

And against his better judgment, Wally's instincts kicked in. He took several steps forward, maybe _slightly_ faster than most humans would have moved, and yanked both yahoos away from the road, dragging them apart with arms that moved of their own accord. One of them took a swing at him, and deep down, Wally relished the feeling of watching a fist come towards him slow enough that he could blink and dodge it easily.

"Hey, break it up!" he shouted, pulling one guy's elbow to the side while pressing his thumb against the nerve in the neck of the other, and forcing the brawlers away from each other. Nonviolent ways of limiting harm done between civilians. Uncle Barry and Black Canary had trained him well.

"Who the hell are you?" one guy, the one who'd been thrown through the window, spat, rubbing his bloody nose on his sleeve with a scowl.

Wally opened his mouth, practically _pulsing_ with adrenaline and with the teeny leaks of power he'd allowed himself, realizing that there was a small crowd gathering. He kept glancing between both bozos, watching to make sure neither tried anything stupid.

But what could he say? _I'm Kid Flash, retired but active, in the wrong city - heck, the wrong state - but at the right time to meddle in tavern brawls in my free time!_

That would go over well. Artemis would rip him a new one.

"He's our bouncer."

_Wait, what?_

Wally spun around at the firm voice of a young woman who leaned against the doorframe of the bar, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised matter-of-factly. No taller than five feet with spiky black hair cropped close to her head, narrowed blue eyes, and a perpetual frown on her face, the woman looked maybe twenty-five, twenty-six. A grad student? A fellow? She must have been the owner, with the way the crowd tensed around her and gave her a good two feet of space at all sides.

"I'm your…" Wally paused a moment at the glare given to him by the woman, then turned his attention back to the two fighters on the sidewalk. "That's right. I'm the bouncer. Consider yourselves… _bounced._ " He clapped his hands together like he was dusting them off and put his hands on his hips. "Now… get out of here, before you make a scene."

Grumbling, the two men turned and went their separate ways, and the crowd dispersed. Wally exhaled and turned back around to face the woman in the doorway. "So, I'm your bouncer, apparently?"

The woman's eyes narrowed even more, seeming to sear into Wally in a way that reminded him of a certain Dark Knight as they looked him up and down. Then she nodded and beckoned for him to follow her inside. "Back room, Ginger." Her voice had the lilting melodic tone of an Irish accent.

"It's Wally. Wally West. You got a name?" Wally asked confusedly, somewhat mystified as people leaned away from him as he walked through the crowded room. It was like he had some unseen aura that screamed _Beware!_ at all he passed.

"On the lease, it's Roisin O'Malley," the woman said as they entered a storage closet, then she locked the door behind them and crossed her arms. "To you? I'm _'Boss.'_ "

Wally stared at her for a second before shaking his head. "... I'm sorry, I don't remember ever setting _foot_ in this place, let alone applying."

"No application necessary. We operate on a recruitment basis."

"And by 'we', you mean you. I didn't see anyone else behind the counter back there."

"... Guess you're not as dumb as you look. What's your major, Ginger?"

"Hey! It's Physics, for your information."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yeah."

"Sheesh, coulda had me fooled."

"Look, I think you've got me mistaken with someone else." Wally raised his eyebrows. "I'm not really allowed in bars, seriously. I'm underage."

Roisin looked at her nails with a shrug. "Good. Means you won't be gulping down the merchandise."

"I don't think that's how it works-"

"Look. Keep the peace, boot out the bad eggs, keep an eye out for foolishness, make sure nobody goes drunk driving like a bloody moron. For four nights a week, I can pay you twenty-five an hour. And I know this campus and this town - that beats the going rate at any other gig around. So. You game?" Roisin held out her hand, the look in her eyes clearly expecting Wally's hand to seal the deal. She seemed so sure that Wally was going to take her up on the offer, after seeing him step in on _one_ fight that literally jumped up in his face.

"Why do you have so much confidence in me?" Wally asked, head cocked to the side. "You don't even know me."

"I don't need to have confidence in you, kid," Roisin sighed, pulling back her hand to cross her arms again. "I've had this place for seven years, with nobody on staff but _me_. But each year, enough customers get rubbered, and a girl can get tired of belting and busting dials. At least now, I got the funds to pay some big fool to do it for me. You fit the bill just fine, what with that fiery Irishblood no doubt running through your veins. The hair, the eyes, the hints of freckles... all dead giveaways." She seemed to look at him with a proud kinship at the notion.

Wally frowned. "I'm not going to be your _hired muscle_ -"

"Nay, kid. You're not," Roisin muttered and waved Wally off, turning to grab a couple of bottles from a shelf on the wall. "I get the impression you've been in more conflicts than you can count because you've got the physical giftings, hm?" A small smirk inched across her face. "Wouldn't surprise me if you've had a history of ending fights, Ginger. Tell me I'm wrong."

Wally didn't say anything, and Roisin raised her eyebrows. "I'm never wrong. I got intuition, kid. I know a protector when I see one. Folks who can't stand people hurting people in their presence. Folks who know when and how to pick their battles." Her mouth quirking to the side, Roisin walked up to Wally and poked in him the chest. "I don't need _another_ meathead stirring up business in this establishment. I need a guy who limits fisticuffs to a minimum and keeps even the idiots safe. So how about it, Ginger? You in or out?"

Wally knew what the right answer to that question was. The whole point of him and Artemis going into retirement was to _avoid_ conflict, to get away from the fighting and the rush of ecstasy from battle. To put a much-needed distance between them and the world they'd grown up in.

To find peace.

But while Artemis longed for that normality she could have the luxury of achieving, and Wally supported the idea one-hundred-percent, there was a part of him, deep down, that he couldn't just… suppress. He couldn't just inhibit that internal drive that had led him to recreate and execute the experiment to exemplify the pinnacle of heroism he saw in his uncle, that drive that opened the doorway to eight years of crime-fighting.

It was a drive that, every day, despite Wally's determination to lead a low-key lifestyle, made him want to get back in the game he'd chosen to leave.

Wally knew he couldn't allow himself to run ever again. He and Artemis had a pact, a vow.

But this… maybe this could be the source of some much-needed release.

"I don't have all night, kid. Make your choice."

Wally slowly broke into a grin. "When do I start?"

* * *

About three weeks into the job, Wally found himself getting into the groove. He'd walk around, meet the patrons - regulars and newcomers alike - and get the lay of the land. By this point, he had a list of people to keep an eye on who had a tendency of getting rowdy when they'd had one beer too many. He'd keep count of how many shots certain people had, how many bottles were stacked on a counter. His memory was sharp enough he could remember the number of drinks a certain person in particular could have before they crossed the line of no return and started expressing their aggression physically.

By the three-week point of being the friendly, yet firm, watchman of Dublin's, Wally was able to stop fights before combatants even knew they were at odds.

"Impressive, Ginger," Roisin muttered to him across the counter one night after Wally had kindly escorted four people out of the bar without a fuss. "Real impressive."

Artemis had no idea, of course. Wally couldn't imagine what her reaction would be if she found out he was suddenly a "glorified henchman" (which wasn't exactly the case), so he carefully scheduled his shifts for when she had study sessions with her HumBio groups or lab sections. He didn't enjoy going behind her back, but he also didn't want her to feel like he'd betrayed their vow, because he didn't! Technically. It was lose-lose either way.

Roisin made it clear she was happy to have him whenever he was available, anyways. "You're the only other person on my payroll, Ginger. Long as you do a good job when you are here, I'm satisfied."

Wally quickly came to realize that he was hired more for the 'Boss' to have someone to talk to than anything. Most people who frequented Dublin's came on dates or in big groups - people who already had someone to converse with, to shout about the sports games on the big TVs or have light-spirited drinking games and poker rounds. Meanwhile, Roisin didn't seem to get loud over football matches or basketball games, could drink the biggest men under the table, and had a poker face that had hustled enough people that she wasn't invited to join in anymore.

Roisin O'Malley was someone who didn't get along with people very well - odd for a bartender and owner of a popular tavern that drew a healthy crowd of young adults nightly. She was efficient, but not social, and Wally had yet to see a single person entering the Irish pub greet Roisin as anything but the hostess. It was like the woman had no friends.

But Wally, being Wally, was determined to change that.

They would have interesting conversations about everything from politics to pastimes, cartoons to commercialism. They would debate the pros and cons of presidential candidates and commiserate over the price of rent. Somehow, they discovered each other's trigger topics, and without saying anything out loud, would forever steer away from topics about superheroes (for Wally) and immigration (for Roisin). But the instant business picked up and they were forced to get back to duty, the woman would clam right up, her eternal poker face resuming the position in her expression.

Wally would watch curiously as she busied herself with cleaning counters and swinging a tray with shots around the room, taking orders by memory and mixing drinks. All by herself. Refusing offers for help from Wally with the most menial things like bussing tables, even on their busiest nights. "You just do your job, Ginger. I'll do mine."

And Wally did his job well. Between his size, his experience in exuding confidence and just enough intimidation to appear as an authority, and his fast perception, he prevented many of the more subtle disasters. No bloodshed was caused when Wally West was on duty, and that was the way he liked it.

But one night, Wally's sharp eyes caught a guy pouring something from his sleeve into a drink before carrying the cup to a young woman at a table.

He didn't quite remember what happened after that, except the next thing he knew, the guy was out in the street nursing a broken nose and who knows what else, and the girl was crying and hugging him.

And Roisin was watching him from the bar with an eyebrow raised.

After the bar closed for the night, she leaned over the counter and stared at him with her calculating blue eyes. "I knew you could fight, Ginger, but I gotta admit. I didn't see that coming. I mean, you laid him _out_ , and lickety-split, too." The ghost of a smile crossed her face as she continued wiping down the counter with a towel. " _Quick as a Flash_ , you might say."

A few years ago, Wally might have had a panic attack at those words, at that look in Roisin's eye. But something told him that the Irishwoman wasn't threatening him. He wasn't at risk for another _Scale Nine_ like in high school - not with Roisin.

"We've all got our secrets," she told him as they walked out of the establishment for the night and she locked up the front door. "I'm just a simple bar owner trying to make her way in the land of the free. So what if I had to… pull a few strings to get here. We're both doing things we're not 'supposed' to be doing at Dublin's. No point in tattling, right, Ginger?" She crossed her arms (her go-to stance, Wally had learned by now) and looked up at Wally expectantly.

With a small smile and an exhale, Wally nodded. "Right."

* * *

Six weeks in, Wally came home to find a displeased Artemis waiting for him in the living room. The raised eyebrow on his girlfriend's face made him want to turn around and go right back out the front door.

"Hey there, babe," he tried, shaking out his umbrella and hanging up his jacket. "You're… back early. How was your study session?"

Artemis didn't move a muscle, staring at him with an unspoken fury behind her stormy grey eyes. "You wanna cut the crap and tell me where you've been?" She paused, and added quietly with her eyebrow rising even higher in question, "And _who_ was with you?"

Oh.

Oh, geez.

Oh, this wasn't good at all. "No, you've got the wrong idea, babe, listen-"

"I'm listening, Wally."

 _Oh, crap. She called me Wally._ Rubbing the back of his neck, he moved to sit down on the couch next to her. "I swear to you, Artemis, it's not how it sounds. Seriously. I… haven't been completely honest with you…" He inhaled and closed his eyes, then opened them again and turned to her, making sure she could see that he was meeting her gaze completely. "It's about the Pact-"

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. You're _moonlighting?_!"

Wally shook his head, waving his hands. "Wha- no. No! No, I'm not running. I promise I'm not."

"Then what? Are you meeting up with Barry to interrogate some goons back home?" Artemis was clearly trying not to get too hyped up, but the quieter she got, the more scared Wally felt.

"Artemis, I promise you, I'm _not_ heroing. Hand on the Holy Bible, that yellow uniform is right where it should be - under the floorboards of the bedroom, beneath the bed. Haven't even looked at it since we put them there."

Artemis looked down at her hands. "Alright. Then out with it: what have you been doing at night when I'm not around?"

Wally scratched his ear, looking away. "Mmphm..." he mumbled.

"What?"

"Y'know… _mmmphmm…_ "

"Stop mumbling, Baywatch."

Wally sighed at length and shrugged. "Bouncing. I'm a bouncer. I... bounce."

"Oh. Huh." Artemis looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face. "Where?"

"Dublin's."

"Oh, that's a nice place!" Artemis said unexpectedly.

"You've been there?" Wally gaped. Artemis was four months younger than he was, and he wasn't even allowed to drink yet. Legally.

"Ashlyn's birthday party last year. The owner seemed a little… ornery," Artemis tried, though Wally knew that was a tame word to describe the Irishwoman who'd hired him on the spot.

"Roisin. She's prickly, but she means well. Tough as nails, totally holds her own, only really has me around because she gets bored, I think. Actually, I think you'd like her..."

"You'll just have to introduce us then."

"Uh-"

"I'm coming on your next shift," Artemis said, and went to the kitchen to make some coffee.

And it was settled.

* * *

Months later, Roisin was more than happy to host Wally's 21st birthday party. Artemis and the barkeeper conspired with utmost secrecy, as Artemis made it clear that the ginger they both knew and loved had an uncanny knack for ruining his own surprise parties.

"Wally can't stand surprises. He always has to know what's coming," Artemis told her fellow conspirator. "That's why his friends and I haven't thrown a surprise party since his sixteenth. But this year, he has no clue." They fistbumped and laughed to themselves in the storage room. Those two got along better than Wally had anticipated, and they'd ganged up on him on more than one occasion. He knew better than to make a gaff in the presence of both lionesses.

When Wally came in for his shift one night the Friday after his birthday, slightly worn out from a day jam-packed with midterm exams, he was bombarded with the celebratory shouts and cheers of his friends. Streamers in red and yellow hung down from the tavern's rafters, balloons were dangling above all the tables, and dozens of the patrons wore cone-shaped party hats.

"What's this?" he laughed nervously, caught off guard, and Artemis swung into his field of vision with a kiss.

"Happy Birthday, Baywatch. And _surprise._ " She gave him a somewhat sadistic smile, then grabbed a waiting shotglass off a nearby table and put it in his hand. "To Wally!" she shouted to the crowd.

" _To Wally!"_ the dozens of customers shouted in return.

Gaiety and shanigans ensued. It wasn't long before Wally realized that he wasn't getting the slightest buzz from all this rite-of-passage drinking. He peered at his glass with suspicion, turning towards Roisin, who had been dragged into the fun against her will. "Nothing. I feel nothing. Huh."

"Metabolism?" Artemis suggested under her breath.

"Metabolism." Wally smiled wistfully to himself. "I remember Uncle Barry telling me something about that, but I never really took it seriously. Seemed like a 'Captain America' sort of problem at the time. Go figure."

"Can't get drunk there, Wally? Awesome! For us at least," Rick laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're the designated driver for life, man."

" _Oh joy."_ Wally groaned and grabbed his friends' shoulders, grinning across the table at Artemis. "Guys, seriously. This was awesome."

"Thank Rosy," Artemis pointed out, nodding her head to the blue-eyed woman who was doing her best - and failing - to keep from grinning. "All the fun is thanks to her." Only Artemis Crock had permission to call her 'Rosy' - all others would have paid dearly for nicknaming the cynical Irishwoman.

"Roisin." Wally's gaze was warm and grateful, and Roisin suddenly found herself looking at the big loon like the younger brother she'd never had. "Thanks. You're amazing," he said quietly, a big smile on his face.

"Quit your flattering, kid," she waved him off with a small laugh, feeling her ears grow warm from the attention of her bouncer's friends. She slid another tray of beers to the big table of Wally's party, some of whom looked suspiciously strong and confident - and when she put her mind to it, perhaps she saw people like Nightwing and Red Arrow…

 _Perhaps_.

" _Another round, on the house,"_ the barkeeper called out, and the bar erupted in more cheers.

* * *

When Wally came in on a day he wasn't scheduled for a shift, his face downcast and his normally upright broad shoulders drooping more than a dead flower, Roisin didn't say anything and slid him a shot.

"Got problems there, Ginger?" she said, with a touch of gentility out of character for her. She didn't like the glazed look in her bouncer's eye.

"Artemis is gone," was all he said.

"I... I see," she replied quietly. She didn't ask further questions - she was resourceful, she could find out for herself the circumstances.

For now, they clinked glasses in a toast.

* * *

Roisin O'Malley was not a woman who easily worried. Mishaps and setbacks were mere blips on her radar; it seemed nothing could shake the unflappable resolve she maintained day after day.

That said...

It was getting to be six days since Ginger had come by Dublin's, and she was getting… _not_ worried, but… frustrated. That was it. She was frustrated that her one employee wasn't bothering to show up for work.

The patrons were asking questions too. "O'Malley, where's Big Red?" "Roisin, have you seen Wally lately?" "Miss, where's the bouncer? I have a joke I think he'd like to hear."

All she could do was shrug. By day seven, Roisin had had enough. She picked up her phone, and for the first time in maybe years, she _dialed_ a number for non-business reasons.

It rang.

"Artemis Crock, who's this?" The blonde woman's voice sounded tired. Dark. Even raspier than Roisin remembered. But after all, the woman had been assumed _dead_ until very, very, _very_ recently. It was only because Wally had confided in her one evening that she knew all was not as it appeared when it came to Artemis Crock.

"Artemis." She exhaled and muttered, "It's Roisin. Long time no chat. Don't want to bother you or anything, but I was wondering when your man plans to show his face? I know it's summer, but he said he'd still be around for his shifts. Ain't seen in him a week, and he didn't call in."

There was silence over the line. Roisin could hear Artemis breathing, long, somewhat unsteady draws of air, but nothing was said. "Artemis?"

"You should sit down, Rosy," the woman said quietly, and the way her voice framed the words sent chills down Roisin's spine. "Do you read the paper? Watch the news?"

"Not as often as I should… why?"

"Wally's dead."

Artemis had said those two words abruptly, without further warning, with a cold sense of repetition that suggested that the blonde woman had spoken the words too often to count lately.

Roisin felt like a deflated balloon - her lungs burned and screamed for air, and she sagged against the counter. The silence of the empty bar behind her was unnerving, oppressive, and she longed even more for the presence of the bouncer at closing time.

"Wh-" she tried, before clearing her throat against the strange knot that had formed in it. " _What happened_?"

"As far as the media knows, he's gone missing on a hiking trip in the Rockies. In a few days, the announcement will be made that he's been declared dead. Deadly fall from a cliff into a ravine."

Roisin swallowed, her pulse beating loud in her own ears. "And… the real story?" she pressed, gently but desperately. She _had_ to know.

Artemis paused, before whispering, "The Reach invasion. Kid Flash gave his life to counteract a world-destructive vortex at the North Pole."

_That does sound like Ginger. Idiot, too protective for his own good._

"I... take it he saved the world, yes?" Roisin asked, her accent coming through heavier with the emotion she was concealing.

" _Absolutely."_

"A hero to the end."

"That's right."

Neither said anything, as Artemis sounded like she was sniffling over the phone, and Roisin was doing her best to digest the news. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Artemis," she finally croaked, her voice hoarse for some reason.

"It's fine," was the woman's reply. Short, automatic, and entirely false.

"If you need someone to talk to… you can always come to me," Roisin found herself saying, surprising even herself. "I'm always around Dublin's, live in an apartment above the bar."

"Thanks, Rosy," Artemis breathed. "Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow?"

"I'll see you then." Roisin inhaled, gnawing on her lower lip and shaking from the effort of keeping her composure over the phone. "Take care of yourself, lass."

"You too, Rosy." The line clicked as Artemis hung up, and Roisin became truly aware of the solitude enveloping her existence. It was just as things were, so many months - nearly a year - ago, before Ginger started loping into her life with his big foolish self. She wouldn't deny that she would… _miss_ the big oaf.

But Roisin O'Malley wasn't crying. Nay, she simply had allergies to… to the new disinfectant she'd been using to wipe the counters these days. That was all.

Nevermind the broken mug she spent ten more minutes picking up off the floor afterward. Strange how the little glass cups just _fling_ themselves across a room, ain't it?

From that day forward, Dublin's Irish Pub & Bar had a nightly toast. _"To the bouncer!"_ Roisin would shout over the noise at ten o'clock.

"To the bouncer!" all would respond in unison and take a drink, some of them unsure of who 'the bouncer' actually was. Then neighbors around them would tell stories of the happy redhead who didn't take crap from anyone and kept people safe from themselves and others. Who had their backs more than they knew when they were past the point of 'tipsy'. The bouncer, who they all loved and missed.

People might shed a few tears or so, depending on their level of intoxication at the time of the toast, and others would share nostalgic smiles.

But Roisin continued to man her post behind the bar at Dublin's, never crying, never harboring any emotion besides impatience. She knew the bouncer, and even if Artemis was determined to let go and move on, stating that "it's what he would have wanted", Roisin was a woman who never liked change. She didn't typically roll over and accept most things in life.

And she didn't accept the loss of her bouncer. The loss of her… dare she say it, her _friend._

_I'll still be here when you get back, Ginger. And then you and I are going to have a talk about your absences. We may even have a hug, if I'm in the mood._

_I'll be waiting._

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. So that was an... interesting oneshot to write. I've been holding myself back from writing anything that might be tied to Season 2 or the 5 year time jump because I don't want to spoil or waste material I've got planned for the sequel stories to "Outlier". But this one just really stuck out to me, and being in college myself, I couldn't help but think a lot on this roadtrip about what Wally and Artemis's lives must have been like when they were at Stanford.
> 
> It ended up being a bit of a downer, but there's a little bit of hope. Because I am, and always have been, a firm believer that Wally West is meant to come back in Season 3. And there will be a Season 3 of Young Justice, even if I have to write one myself. ;)
> 
> Again, Happy New Years, everyone! Look forward to a 2016 with at least one update a week as my resolution! Maybe you guys can hold me to it. :)
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Iron Woobie


End file.
